Santa, Baby
by Pukkina
Summary: No hard feelings, right? Especially not when most of them would be caused by a certain blue eyed man in a Santa suit. Oneshot, not JxL, somewhat cheesy. Please review!


A/N-This timely idea came into my head as I was shopping last night. The crowds were wreaking havoc with my brain and as I sat down for, believe it or not, a latte and a croissant, it came to me. Christmas is a time for reconciliation and new beginnings, right? So why shouldn't that apply to the worst of enemies? Please review.

Disclaimer-Ya da, ya da, don't own anything. Cheers.

Rating-Safe! A few cuss words, but other than that, it's a good PG-13!

Xx

"A stole?" Lisa repeated, dumbfounded, into the phone. She switched her plastic shopping bag to the other hand so that the wire would stop cutting into her fingers. "Seriously?"

"She's a classy elegant," Joe insisted. His daughter rolled her eyes, looking skyward to the strands of bright blue tinsel that hung over her head. She shielded the cell with her palm to prevent the obnoxious noise of the Miami shopping mall from filtering into their conversation. "She would absolutely _love_ one. Mink, maybe."

"I'm not going to buy your girlfriend a dead animal to wear around her neck."

There was a heavy, exaggerated sigh from her father's end. Lisa suppressed a giggle. _He should join the theater in the free time he has instead of watching old Blue Collar Comedy tour reruns._ "Fine, Leese. Get her a knickknack or bake some fruitcake, something cheesy like that, if you don't care, you don't care."

Now Lisa was the one disgruntled. "I do care, Dad. But think. It's five o'clock on Christmas Eve. Mink stoles are….lovely, I admit, but costly, and where on Earth would I find one at such short notice? I'm not Jackson Rippner, I don't have all the money in the world." That was their new personal joke.

Three months after the infamous Red Eye flight, the jury unanimously decided to let Jackson off with a seven hundred dollar fine and eight hundred hours of community service. Lisa's lawyer decided he'd paid off the jury, but Lisa no longer cared. If Jackson wanted her dead, he wouldn't have to do it himself. She didn't know exact figures but she knew the magnitude of the people working beneath him.

She'd been scared the first few months, convinced that a murderer was waiting behind every street corner. But she was still alive. Now, Lisa realized, either Jackson was damn lazy or didn't want her dead after all. Judging by his knife work on the door in her father's house, though, she decided it was the latter. She was safe.

Joe had come up with the Jackson RippnerBill Gates joke, cautiously muttering it to himself one night at a weekly dinner with his daughter. Lisa had stared at him for a minute.

"What did you just say?" he repeated his stint. She laughed. Hard.

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" she took swigs of her cola as she wiped tears from her face. "That was hilarious!"

She wasn't upset. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't really anything but mildly annoyed that he'd disrupted her schedule. Lisa felt she was better, now, though, than ever. She had confidence in her capabilities and her logic. She was proud that she'd outsmarted him.

If anything, he should be curling up in embarrassment for what she did to him.

Joe relented. "Okay. I guess you're right." He'd gotten more self-centered since he'd met Lucinda. God, how Lisa hated that woman. She was quite like an elderly Paris Hilton, talon-like fingernails included. Frankly, she couldn't see what her father saw in the woman. She was horrendous.

He'd probably been affected most. He rarely left the house except to see his girlfriend and Lisa, and this time, _he_ was the one that was paranoid. Not just for his daughter's safety, but for his own.

_Which makes sense,_ Lisa realized, _as it was **him** who was being stalked that night._

"So what else?" Lisa prodded, checking her watch. 5:33. She was trying to telepathically urge her father along; she had dinner with Cynthia at seven and still several more people to shop for. "Jewelry, gift cards….what?"

"She's been dying for a copy of The Lord Of The Rings," Joe said honestly. Lisa raised an eyebrow.

"The book?"

"The movie. She's a hardcore Orlanda Broom fan." _Aren't we all._

"I can do that," Lisa quickly scrawled it across the top of her hand in light pen. "Okay, Dad. I have to go. I love you, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye, sweetheart." She hung up and hurried along to Barnes and Nobles.

The mall was crowded, Lisa had to do some heavy-duty elbow work to get through the massive crowds of people.

"Jesus Christ, people, if you're going to talk on your phone, move off to the side and not where everybody is trying to walk!" Lisa muttered, nearly hitting a man with the bag bouncing off her wrist. She apologized and broke into a quicker stride.

_Why did I wear heels Christmas shopping?_ Lisa complained to herself. Then she remembered her date with Cynthia and hastily checked her cheap wristwatch yet again. Cursing at the time, she broke into a quick jog.

She felt a sudden breath of fresh air as she broke through the crowds. Looking around, slightly disoriented at the lack of bodies surrounding her, she paused.

Lisa was outside of the North Pole display.

She was shocked at the dearth of guests. Usually, "Santa's Home" was teeming with tiny children excited to sit on Santa Clause's lap. Now, Lisa noticed that "Santa" was bored, checking his messages while he waited.

She smiled as she thought about her Christmases years ago. When she was little, her father had brought her the first day of every year that Santa arrived at the mall. Lisa had loved it, drinking in the excitement and often waiting for hours in the line. When she perched upon his hefty lap, she would bounce excitedly and tell him how she wanted this and that. He would hem and haw and when she was done, would gently place a small doll or even a candy bar in her porcelain hands. The flashbulbs would pop and then it would be over. But the magic would stay until the next year.

Now she saw that it was different. Santa was scrawny, and even from a distance looked a bit annoyed. The basket by his chair held cheap fast food-esque toys, there were no lines, and the photographers no longer used flashbulbs. They used computers.

But for some reason, Lisa wanted to relive her experience. Her feet were itching to run and jump on his lap, though she had a feeling she was a tad too big.

The photographers idly waiting around seemed to feel the same way. Their eyes were frozen pleadingly on her form, and she sighed, checking her watch. _I've got time._

Lisa smiled at them. "I'd think it would be more crowded on Christmas Eve."

They shook their heads, the bells on the ends of their elven hats jangling loudly. "No," one answered with a groan. "We're never busy this day. Parents are eager to get their kids home and in bed. If they have any last-minute shopping to do, they hire a babysitter. It's just too crazy here."

"Of course," Lisa nodded, biting her lip. "This may sound strange, but may I…?"

"Go ahead," the other elf answered. "Lord knows we need something to do."

Lisa grinned from ear to ear and strode slowly up the green-carpeted pathway.

"Santa" was still distracted with his phone. "Hey, Kringle!" one of the photographers shouted. "You have a visitor!"  
His head snapped up and he raised a fake eyebrow as Lisa mounted the steps. He let out an artificial guffaw and slapped his skinny knee as she approached.

"Merry Christmas!" he chortled. "Come take a seat on Santa's lap!"  
_Poor guy. This must be the shittiest job in the world._ "You sure I'm not too big?"

"Nobody is too big for Santa Clause!"

"Andre the Giant could give you a run for your money. Nice phone, by the way."

He laughed. "Now, what would you like for Christmas?"

Lisa paused. She hadn't really thought about that aspect. She'd just been having a small mid-life crisis. Looking into his eyes for a distraction, she froze.

They were blue.

Not sky blue. Not navy. Not gray-blue. Not sea.

They were crystalline.

They were the eyes that she hadn't forgotten, the ones that still itched inside of her brain, festering.

The eyes of a killer.

Jackson Rippner.

"What I want for Christmas is…" she searched. "…is a Grapefruit Seabreeze."

He had known. She could see that, he had seen her and now she'd called him on his playacting. The show was up.

He scratched his fake white locks. "Uh….are you sure you wouldn't like a pony or something?"

"I fell off of one when I was eight. I definitely want that drink."

He dropped the deepened voice. Lisa wondered why she hadn't noticed before, but the rasp was evident in his usually clear tone. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I was visiting Santa, but I guess we're playing scramble and the correct word there would be 'Satan.' Goodbye." She moved to get up.

"Wait." Something in his voice demanded her attention, so she sat back down.

She sighed. "What are you doing here, Jack? Seriously. You look like a royal idiot."

"I'm here because you stabbed me in the neck, Leese." He lowered his voice to a whisper, glancing haphazardly at the photographers.

"What, you sold your soul to the North Pole to pay for your tracheotomy?" Lisa laughed bitterly. "That sounds like a bad banjo-accompanied Christmas carol."

"Community service. Remember? Because your goddamn lawyer would settle for nothing less."

"Feel grateful, I was shooting for death row or at the very least a life sentence."

"If I'd have gotten a life sentence, you'd be dead."

"I know," Lisa played with a ring on her left hand, twirling the band around the middle finger. "I can't believe they entrusted you with small children. I can't believe you picked this."

"Believe it or not, I'm a bit partial to kids," he admitted. "Besides, everyone else was working roadside cleanup, and picking up other people's McDonald's bags isn't exactly what I call good clean fun." He paused and nodded at one of the photographers. "And that short elf over there? The one with all the freckles? He's actually a cop."

"It's hard to imagine someone carting a loaded Glock in the North Pole."

"Believe me, I've seen weirder shit, Leese."

"Okay, then," Lisa clapped her hands together. "This has been enough weirdness for one night, and unfortunately I have hundreds of dollars left to throw down the drain before the night is over, so I'll leave you. You probably have a lot to do. Making your list, checking it twice. The usual." She stood and began walking away. She had her hand on the gateway door out when Jackson called her back.

"Lisa!"

She turned. "Yes?"

He hopped off his chair and jogged down the aisle. "You still want that Seabreeze?"

"I'd say yes, Jackson, but like I said before, I'm busy, and you have a bit of a crowd now." She nodded her head at the family of five standing eagerly before them.

"Well, Santa needs to go grab some eggnog." He hung a sign up on the door. "Ready to go?"

Lisa shook her head. "I hardly think the kids will be incredibly forgiving if Santa keeps them waiting."

He didn't hear her, as he'd already jogged off to tell the photographers that he was taking a break. She heard them grumble but finally cave and he came back.

Lisa gestured at the crowd. "I said no."

"Well, I said yes." He addressed the kids in a sugary-sweet voice. "Sorry, kids, Santa needs to take a break. He hasn't eaten dinner yet, and you should never skip meals." He added a gruff 'Ho-Ho-Ho' and they were off.

"I do have a restraining order, you know."

"I have one, too. My lawyer didn't exactly like the idea of me being relatively close to a pen-wielding maniac."

"Why didn't your little bodyguard say anything?" Lisa adjusted the bags in her hand, and Jackson wordlessly took them. She had no time to protest.

"He probably didn't recognize you. You have way too much conceit in that little head of yours, Lisa."

"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!"

Jackson murmured a few choice words under his breath as they discovered that the small pub was closed. "Shit. I forgot. Sunday, Christmas Eve, getting late…"

"Of course," Lisa nodded and shrugged, reaching for her bags. "Well, I don't want to keep you. I'll be off, then…"

Jackson tugged them back and nodded across the wide avenue. "Starbucks is open."

Lisa smiled. "You did promise me a latte, if I remember correctly."

They went inside.

She found a table while he ordered their drinks. A white chocolate latte for her (she was touched that he knew, and then remembered with a jolt that he had stalked her for eight weeks) and a plain black coffee for him. And two croissants. She liked that touch.

"Whatever happened to cookies and milk?"

"I'm lactose intolerant and have no idea how to even make cookies. I think I've maybe had two in my life. My mother was definitely not a baker. The one batch she ever made ended up on the roof of the oven."

"Bet you still ate them," Lisa sipped her drink. It scalded her tongue and she spat it back into the cup, sucking at the burned spot.

"As soon as she scraped them off, they were in my mouth," he chuckled, pulling off his hat. Lisa tsked.

"Aw, now, that was such a nice touch. Why'd you have to go and ruin it?"

He shot a scathing look in her vicinity and rolled up his sleeves.

She spoke again. Something had just occurred to her. "I thought you killed your parents."

His head snapped up, his eyes fiery in the other end of the color spectrum. "What did you just say?"

Lisa couldn't help but feel her skin crawl in an innate fear. Santa costume or no, those eyes had a way of bringing her back to that terrible flight. "I….in the Tex Mex! You said that you…that you killed your parents."

Jackson's lip curled up slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, more relaxed now. "I did not kill my parents. Jesus H. Christ." He sighed. "They did die for me when I was ten, however."

Lisa frowned, the question forming on her lips, but he did not let her continue. "Mom was diagnosed with a rare form of pancreatic cancer when I was nine. She died on my tenth birthday."

She didn't know what to say. 'I'm sorry' jumped first to her mouth, but that didn't seem right. She was sorry that she had died, but was she sorry for Jackson? Not necessarily. He'd almost killed her. You don't feel pity for a killer.

"Dad killed himself the next day. I found him, hanging in the bathroom from the shower curtain. That's a great surprise, by the way, I highly recommend it." His jaw hardened. "Not a loss. I don't need people."

"Jackson," Lisa whispered. "Everybody needs someone."

He snorted. "Did Dr. Phil teach you that? Because it's shit, Leese. I've grown accustomed to it. Don't worry, I see your face, you don't have to apologize. It's not your fault my parents were weak."

"They weren't _weak_, Jackson. Your mother got sick. It could happen to anybody."

"My father was soft. There is absolutely no excuse," he drank the rest of his coffee and winced as the hot fluid inevitably grazed the wound in his throat. His voice was considerably more raspy when he continued. "Would you leave your only son just because you can't handle death?"

"I wouldn't know," Lisa admitted. "But I know I would be devastated. And I know you were, too. That's why you went into the line of work you did, and that's why I beat you."

"I hardly think you beat me because my parents keeled over."

"On the contrary. I think that your sensitivity to _my_ story made you weak for a minute."

"I wasn't weak, Leese. I was distracted."

"Same thing. You're so opposed to this idea of fragileness, Jack, but you shouldn't be. Everybody has a right to that vulnerability."

"I can't afford it." Jackson broke their gaze and ripped a hunk of bread from the croissant. "Maybe you can, but it screwed me over."

"Is that why we're here, Jackson?" Lisa wondered. "Is that why you became an assassin?"

He didn't speak for a minute, and Lisa thought maybe she'd offended him again. "I don't know. It just happened. One day I was sitting in the orphanage, and the next I was learning how to fire a gun. Things happen, people change. It was the most logical thing at the time and has worked for me ever since. It's a good channel for my frustration."

"Jogging is a good stress-reliever too, you know, and it involves a lot less equipment."

He shrugged and swabbed his bread in the droplets left in his cup. "So, Lisa, enough about me. What have you been up to?"

She pointed at the bags. "Busy being a shameless consumer."

"How's Dad? And Lucinda?"

"They're fi-" Lisa paused mid-drink. "How do you know about Lucinda? Are you watching me again?"

"I'll always be watching you, Leese," he smirked at her and stood to throw away his remainders.

She glared at him, and when he sat back down, she already had her phone out.

"Who are you calling?"

"The cops!" she informed him angrily. "You have no right to-"

Jackson grabbed her wrist and yanked the device from her fingers, pocketing it smoothly. "I have no right to what? Have a chat with a beautiful woman?"

Lisa was dumbfounded, and stuttered as she answered. "Don't think that by flattering me you'll calm me down!" she snapped. "You're violating your restraining order!"

"I'm going to remind you that _you,_ Ms. Reisert, were the one who approached _me,_ and that _you_ as well are violating court orders. Plus, you sat on my lap. That could be considered sexual harassment."  
"You ass-" Lisa trailed off as the words from the first part sank in. Jackson laughed at her indignant expression. She shot him a scathing glance and threw the other croissant at him. "Asshole."

"Whiny bitch."

"Chauvinistic coward."

"…..bread flinger."

Lisa cocked her head at him. He looked back at her, just as blankly.

Then they laughed.

Together.

To passersby, they seemed like a couple finishing a playful feud. Jackson enforced that as he reached across the table and pecked her gently on the lips. She grabbed him by the ears and pushed him away. His face was red, it complemented his satiny cherry suit nicely.

"That," she swished some latte in her mouth to rinse, "was weird."

He smirked in that discriminatingly annoying fashion that Lisa so hated and ran a hand through his long hair. "But you liked it."

"It was degrading."

"But you liked it."

"It made no sense!"

"Again," he nodded, "you liked it."

She looked at him. "Why?"

"Why did you like it? That's your business."

"No. Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

She glared at him. "Kiss me."

"I thought you didn't like it!" he joked, but at her stony face grew solemn. "I did it because, Leese, like it or not, I'm fatally attracted."

"You just had to throw in that 'fatally', didn't you?"

"Well, it's true," he shrugged. "I hope you realize that. I can't start anything with you or my company will have me dead. No offense, but you're kind of a thorn in their side right now and it took a pretty penny for me to convince them not to kill you."

Lisa fluttered a hand at her chest. "Oh, I feel so honored. It's fine. I hope you realize that I've never really been attracted to you, either, so while I'm glad that you've satisfied your curiosity, it's a good thing that you can't be with me. If you could, it could get creepy. Obsessively stalking me or something."

"That would be bad," he admitted with a laugh, then caught her coy expression and rolled his eyes, "It's for your own safety. Really. Wouldn't want you getting into trouble, now."

She smiled and stood, gathering her bags. "So, what would you call us, then, Jack? Friends? Acquaintances? Or enemies?"

"I think it's a healthy balance," he realized as he handed off her purse. "We know each other well enough to be friends, but we don't call each other regularly like friends do. And, we almost killed each other, so that kind of lumps us in the enemy category."

"Touché."

"Think of it this way," he decided as he replaced his hat on his brown locks. "We're kind of like a child's relationship with Santa Clause."  
"Well-spoken from the man in the buckled boots," Lisa noted with a small frown. "Though I'm not sure how your mind figures that. A kid doesn't usually want to hold Santa Clause at knife point. Nor do they know his favorite drink."

"Okay, Leese, first of all, when Santa didn't bring me the deluxe Batman playset when I was seven, I was seriously considering it. And second of all, I do know Santa's favorite drink."

"Oh, really?" Lisa said with a raised eyebrow and hand on hip. He began walking away. "And what would that be?"

He didn't answer until they were almost back at the Christmas display. It was havoc now, and the elves looked pissed. Lisa smiled at him in parting and began to walk away, but paused as she heard something and the old story popped back into her head as she watched him. _He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle._

_But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,_

"It was eggnog, Leese."

Lisa smiled at him, and with a hand tightly clutching her shopping bags, bid him Merry Christmas.

_And to all a good night._


End file.
